


You're My Limit

by upinthehoodings



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017 World Juniors, M/M, Mathew Barzal - Freeform, New Year's Eve, Team Canada, Thomas Chabot - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:25:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9275990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/upinthehoodings/pseuds/upinthehoodings
Summary: “Hey, you doing okay?” It was Chabot. Had it been another guy, Dylan most likely would have gotten annoyed, but Chabot understood Dylan. They got along better than Dylan had with any other teammate outside of his best-friend-since-early-childhood, McLeod.“Yeah, I’m fine. Just pep-talking myself.”“Well, if you need any more inspiration, remember that the Leafs are here in the stands,” Chabot said vaguely, nudging Dylan’s knee before leaving. How the hell was that supposed to be inspirational?





	

The thunderous roar at the ACC should have woken up the team. Yeah, the Americans were good, but this was on home ice. In front of 20,000 rowdy Canadians (and the odd American, if you could find them within the sea of red, good luck with that). They were down 3-1 and needed a miracle at this point if they wanted to have a chance at winning the game with how the game was going. Dylan was beyond frustrated; here he was as Captain Canada, with the nation’s high expectations perched on his shoulders. It wasn’t hard for anyone who knew anything about hockey to see that he was playing like complete shit, he knew that.

His mind was scattered. He couldn’t figure out why the team was playing such sloppy, undisciplined hockey, or why the Hockey Gods really wanted to punish them, or how they were going to fare in later games. If anything, Dylan did not want a repeat of last year and the major disappointment that still clouded over his head.

The horn sounded for the end of the second period. The team made their way down the tunnel back to the locker room. Barzal stick-tapped his butt as they handed their gear to the training staff.

“Don’t get too down on yourself, Stromer, that was a great assist. We got a period left, anyway, and we’ll kick ass. Got it?” Barzal patted his shoulder and walked over to his stall. The room was quiet, though not silent, compared to first intermission.

Coach Ducharme was the last person to enter the room. Everyone stopped talking once they realized he was about to speak. “We have to be smart, you guys. You can’t just throw pucks up the middle and expect something to happen. That’s a turnover and a goal sitting right there on a damn platter. You also can’t just shoot for the hell of it. Turn your head, look with open teammates in better positions. Don’t force it when you have options, okay? We’re much better than this, boys. We have the talent, we have the heart, and the determination. Every game, we play like it’s our last. You play for you and you play for me. But most importantly, you play for the front of your sweater, for those that don it, and those that take pride in it. We have twenty minutes left to pick up our feet and show those Americans that this is our house!” The guys whooped and hollered in response. Dylan smiled, happy that it seemed as if the team had life again.

With half of intermission gone, the guys prepared themselves for what they wanted to be their best period in the tournament. Dylan took time to clear his head of any sort of negative or irrelevant thought pertaining to the game. He felt a presence shift closer to his side.

“Hey, you doing okay?” It was Chabot. Had it been another guy, Dylan most likely would have gotten annoyed, but Chabot understood Dylan. They got along better than Dylan had with any other teammate outside of his best-friend-since-early-childhood, McLeod.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just pep-talking myself.”

“Well, if you need any more inspiration, remember that the Leafs are here in the stands,” Chabot said vaguely, nudging Dylan’s knee before leaving. How the hell was that supposed to be inspirational?

_____

“You gotta be more disciplined, you guys!” Coach Ducharme shouted at the bench as Clague went to the box for slashing. “We cannot be taking stupid penalties, it’s gonna cost us!”

The U.S. wasn’t able to capitalize, and almost the entire arena was able to breathe a little easier. Canada was getting shot after shot on net, but none would go in. Maybe this just wasn’t their day. As the clock wound down, the guys got careless. Dubois took an unsportsmanlike penalty with four minutes to go, as well as team-offsetting too many men penalties, and another pair by Chabot and Raddysh with three seconds left.

The final score remained 3-1. Dylan felt on the verge of tears, with so many negative emotions running around in his head, as if they were people and his brain was on fire. The teams went down the line to shake hands. The phrase _great game_ didn't have any meaning, it was really the only appropriate thing to say though.

The United States national anthem blasted in the arena, with the American flag raising to the rafters. Canadian fans respectfully applauded the anthem afterward, and Team Canada left the ice.

“Don't hang your heads, boys,” Dylan yelled down the tunnel, being one of the last to exit behind the bench. “We've got quarters next, and we’re going all the way to win this damn tournament.”

Stephens turned back to Dylan. “Fuck yeah, Stromer. You got that right.”

_____

The post game locker speech from Coach Ducharme was calmer than Dylan — and many other players, based off of their faces when Ducharme didn't yell — thought. Small conversations between the guys occurred after coach finished speaking. Dylan kept to himself, stripping off his gear and rinsing off quickly before changing back into his suit. The bags were already carried to the bus by the trainers, and groups of players exited the locker room.

Again, being one of the last ones remaining, Dylan checked his tie, though it wasn't really necessary. He opened the door to the hallway outside the room. Earbuds were plugged in his ears on the way to the bus.

He heard a faint call of his name. “Stromer!” Dylan spun to see a familiar face, with a shit eating grin plastered onto it.

Dylan sucked in a breath. “Marns,” he breathed out. They walked toward each other until Mitch reached out his arms, welcoming Dylan into them. They clung tight to each other. Dylan smiled into the warmth of Mitch’s beanie, feeling his grip grow tighter and tighter. He had missed this. It totally sucked ass that Mitch was playing too well in Toronto for them to loan him, but that was completely selfish. No one had to know, though.

“Glad I made it when I did. Though luckily you walk as slow as you do skate.”

Dylan rolled his eyes. He felt Mitch grip onto his arm briefly before pulling away. They continued to walk side by side toward the bus that was waiting for him and a couple of straggling teammates. Their strides were in sync, something Dylan had noticed over time that always happened when they saw each other. His heart warmed up in the presence of Mitch, which wouldn’t have occurred had it been a few years ago.

Since the team didn’t have any set plans for the evening that day, Coach surprisingly allowed Dylan to leave with Mitch, as long as Mitch dropped him off back at the hotel by curfew (12:30am was more than generous, considering they had a lot of work to do the next day to prepare for quarters).

As a Leafs player, Mitch had his own parking stall in the ACC garage. “Aren’t you too cool,” Dylan had commented on their way to his car. “Wait, didn’t Auston come to the game?”

“Yeah, well he was pissing me off with his Americanness in my ear the whole game. I made him go home with Gards so I didn’t need to deal with his shitty cheery-ass attitude tonight.” Mitch unlocked the car, the sound echoing in the near-empty garage. Dylan opened the door and threw the opened bag of Skittles on the passenger seat behind it.

“It’s like you take your bedroom everywhere with you.”

Mitch turned to him with a serious look. “Don’t fucking go all Mom on me right now. I don’t want to regret taking you to cheer you up because you’re acting like a little shit.”

“Says the guy who’s shorter than me.” It didn’t take very long for a grin to appear on Mitch’s face, and they were off.

The ride to some Italian restaurant near the lake was more or less relieving to Dylan. Mitch caught him up on the Leafs’ season so far, and his and Auston’s wild adventures with the neighbors in their apartment — mainly noise complaints, because Mitch could never keep his loud mouth shut in an intense game of NHL17.

Dylan didn’t mention his longing to still be up with the Coyotes, but he knew that he might not have been in this current position if he was on the big team’s roster. Mitch had already knew of Dylan’s view of the situation, because he practically bawled over the phone at the Phoenix airport. Jealousy still rung in his mind, that all of his friends were playing in the NHL, and he couldn’t stay up, not even for the full nine games. Mitch got the hint, and vowed to never bring anything up that was relevant to his demotion.

Dylan’s left arm rested on the center console. Throughout the drive, Mitch would move his right arm to lean on it as well, forgetting that Dylan’s was there. Every time their fingers accidentally brushed, Dylan couldn’t help but blush. He made sure to tuck his face toward the window so Mitch wouldn’t be able to see in his peripheral. Man, was he gone for that Thornhill boy.

“Ugh, my car’s gonna smell like shit by the time I drop you off,” Mitch groaned as he pulled the car into a parking space.

“Oh come on, Marns. You love my scent.” Dylan inhaled deeply, and breathed out the same. He smirked over at Mitch, who pinched his nose in disgust. Mitch kept his fingers clamped, making his voice sound nasally. “You won’t be picking up guys any time soon if you think that,” he joked. They laughed about it and talked shit to each other on the way into the restaurant. The place was busy with couples and families for a nice New Year's Eve dinner. Amongst the chatter in the building, Dylan could hear his own stomach growl.

“I just want food,” he whined. One of the waiters showed them to a table on the far side. Dylan received a few ‘Go Canada!’s, and Mitch ‘Go Leafs!,’ as well as autograph requests here and there. Dylan didn’t know why anyone would carry an array of Sharpies in their purse when they were going out to eat.

It probably wasn’t a good idea for them to sit across from one another, because surely Mitch would catch Dylan staring at him, if he hadn’t already in the car. Honestly, no one could resist Mitch’s eyes, even if they tried. True statement.

“So wait, when do you need to be back at the hotel?” Mitch asked. He looked up from his menu, seemingly oblivious to Dylan’s admiring eyes.

“Um,” Dylan fumbled. “12:30 in the morning, I think.”

“Ooh,” Mitch cooed. “Your New Year’s kiss doesn’t have to be someone from the team again, huh?” Dylan’s face immediately turned a shade of crimson. “We do not need to bring that up again. No one does. In the history of ever. Nope. Shut up, Mitchell.” In Helsinki last year, the team had celebrated New Year’s in two of the guys’ room, and the only kiss that occurred happened between Dylan and Jake Virtanen. Not that Jake was a bad kisser, but the fact that Mitch was right next to them when it happened made Dylan feel really uncomfortable. Turned out that Crouser and TK were calling for a Dylan and Mitch kiss that never happened, though Dylan didn’t think Mitch was aware that their teammates were nearly betting that they’d kiss.

“For what it’s worth, that was the first New Year’s kiss I’ve ever had, and I was not disappointed.” The waiter interrupted and jotted down their orders before leaving again.

“It was funny as hell, though. I didn’t think Jake swung that way, but that’s cool.”

“I think he has something going on with Hutton in Vancouver. At least that’s what Connor told me, anyway.”

Mitch cocked his eyebrow. “How is Connor, by the way? I haven’t really talked to him since the end of November.” Dylan shrugged. He and Connor had a hard time fitting FaceTime or whatever into their schedules — more on Connor’s side because the NHL has a much more ‘grueling schedule,’ as Connor put it — to be able to talk much. Even texting was difficult for them, but Dylan never worried too much when Connor wouldn’t respond right away like he did when he was still with Erie. “He’s fine. Being his perfect, godlike self as always. He told me he wanted to come home for the holidays, but the team only had a couple days off before they needed to practice again. So he stayed with Nuge for the little break.”

“Aw, cute.” The food had arrived by then. When the plates were set down, Dylan dug into his spaghetti like a lion over a zebra. No one in the joint that knew in the slightest who he was judged him. When he finished his next forkful, he glanced up to a phone in his face. “Wha’ ‘re you doin’?”

“Snapping this to Aus, he wants to keep up to date with our little outing today.” Outing? Eh, Dylan could live with that.

“What do you want to do after this, Dyls?” Mitch quietly asked. “We could take a walk, go shopping or something.” Neither of the ideas popped out to him, so he stayed silent, hoping Mitch would add onto his list.

He watched as Mitch took his last bite of penne. “Or we could always go to the apartment and chill there until you need to go back.” A smile was all the response Dylan needed to provide.

Mitch offered to pay for both of their meals because ‘Dylan gets a reward for improved skating’ that Mitch had noticed during the game. He briefly flashbacked to the thrill of having Mitch on his wing last year, and how the whole nation acknowledged their development of friendship to Canada’s eventual dynamic duo. Dylan frowned at the reminder that the two as a pairing would most likely never happen again.

“Dyl, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just need a good ol’ Marner cuddle when we get to your place.” The two drove back to Mitch and Auston’s apartment near the rink, one that had a gorgeous view of the Toronto skyline. The apartment seemed as if no one had actually moved in and gotten settled, because a bunch of boxes were scattered. They had a huge flat screen setup with an Xbox and PlayStation plugged in. The kitchen wasn’t as cluttered with food as Dylan had previously assumed. Mitch was definitely not a neat person, but it was becoming more apparent that Auston liked keeping things reasonably clean. The place had a small balcony with a view of the CN Tower. Dylan was envious, to say the least. Mitch led them to his bedroom (Auston didn’t want to share in case he or Mitch ended up bringing someone home) and collapsed onto the mattress.

“You know, this doesn’t really feel like your bedroom until there’s all sorts of crap laying everywhere. I expected better, Marns.” Dylan walked around, observing some pictures Mitch had hung up. There were some of his minor hockey days, some with his mullet, some during his time with the Knights, and a couple of family photos. Dylan spotted a couple on Mitch’s nightstand. He looked at them closer, realizing that the three pictures were all of him and Mitch. World Juniors, the NHL Draft, and other events, he recognized the circumstances. Dylan’s heart swelled, a smile unable to be contained.

He heard some shuffling behind him. “You wanted a cuddle. Now get over here, you lanky fuck.”

“You know I still smell like shit,” he reminded Mitch. Mitch waved him off, mumbling something along the lines of “I don’t give a flying fuck, get your ass here or get the fuck out.”

He stripped out of his gameday suit until he was only left in his undershirt and boxers and climbed under the duvet. He settled his arm around Mitch’s waist, with his knees tucked behind and his chest pressed against Mitch’s back. They were all too familiar with this position from all of their sleepovers and shared hotel rooms. Dylan nuzzled his face into Mitch’s neck. Mitch hadn’t fidgeted all at while Dylan adjusted himself, but rather melted into his touch.

The air was silent for a few minutes. Both were wide awake, but neither wanted to speak first. At one point, they both got tired of waiting for each other and fell asleep.

_____

“Hey, Dyl, wake up.”

“Fuck off. Let me sleep.” Dylan dramatically rolled over and huffed into the pillow. He just wanted to rest more after an exhausting day.

“I will fart on your face if you don’t get up, lazy ass. It’s almost New Year’s, and you need to get ready to go back to the hotel soon.”

He was lucky that Mitch didn’t resort to water to wake him up. Then again, this was Mitch’s bed. The time on his phone read 11:45pm. There were a couple of texts from Chabot and Mikey, making sure that he was doing okay.

_hey stromer, we kno u love mitch a lot but u got a team to captain bud ;)_ , Mikey had sent.

God, he loved his teammates so much.

When Dylan came out from the bathroom, the bedroom was empty. He searched for Mitch around the main rooms, panic slowing rising in his chest. The tv was tuned to a New Year’s countdown. A silhouette was perched outside on the balcony. Dylan smacked his forehead. Of course. Because Mitch was a dramatic shit like that.

“Wow.” Mitch glanced back at Dylan before returning his attention to the sight in front of him. The sky was clear, the CN Tower clear lit and outlined. He analyzed Mitch’s wardrobe: a black longcoat, a blue sweater, a black scarf, a toque, and slacks. Dylan shrugged it off.

“I missed this,” Mitch admitted, not staring at Dylan. “I missed you. Like a fucking lot, you know.”

“Me too,” Dylan barely mustered. He cautiously wrapped an arm around Mitch’s shoulders. He felt Mitch instantly relax into his side; his head leaned into Dylan’s shoulder. Dylan eyed the time on his watch. 5 seconds. He could hear the faint countdown from the tv in the living room.

He was going to do it.

_“5…”_

_"4…”_

_“3…”_

“Hey, Marns.”

_“2…”_

“Yeah?”

_“1…”_

"I love y—”

_“Happy New Year!”_

“Shut up, idiot, I know. I love you too.” Mitch reached up and pressed his lips to Dylan’s. It was soft and slow, unlike the kiss that Dylan had last year. Dylan caressed his cheeks. His thumbs brushed over the smoothness of Mitch’s skin, finally getting who he’s wanted for longer than he thought he did.

“Aw!”

“What the fuck?” Dylan jumped out of the kiss to find Auston standing inside the doorway with a phone pointed at them. “I’m posting this shit on Instagram,” Auston grinned. “Connor will be so proud.” He walked away and shut the door to his bedroom without giving Dylan or Mitch a chance to respond.

They both laughed to each other for a few moments. “We’ll make it work, I know we can.” Dammit, Dylan had to go. He was fucking Captain Canada. He wasn’t letting his country down. And Mitch had the Leafs to carry to the playoffs, with Auston and Willie.

“We’re going to make this work. I promise.” Dylan stretched out his pinkie finger for Mitch, who gracefully accepted it with his own. “And when we win that gold medal, I’ll make sure you’re the first person I see when I step out of the locker room, and I’ll make sure to kiss the fuck out of you, and you’ll have to deal that I’ll smell fucking horrible.”

“You got it, bud.” Dylan closed the gap.

_____

“Ha! I called it!” TK yelled over the phone. Crouser texted the exact same thing with a screenshot of Auston’s post. When Dylan reached his hotel room, all of his teammates snuck inside before then and congratulated him after scaring the shit out of him. Mikey was nearly in tears, which made Dylan laugh even harder. Max had later called him to make sure he was qualified to be Mitch’s boyfriend. Jake commented a couple of heart-eye emojis on Auston’s post.

Later that morning, Dylan woke up from his phone ringing. It was none other than the great Connor McDavid.

“Davo?”

“Why did I have to find out from an Auston Matthews Instagram post that you and Mitch are dating? Jeez, has our friendship really gone down to that?”

Dylan spent the next hour being lectured by Connor of how ‘he always had a feeling’ and listed off all the pieces of evidence from the Draft and World Juniors. At some point in the conversation, Dylan hung up on Connor.

Mitch posted a throwback picture later in the afternoon of him and Dylan at World Juniors camp last fall. He captioned the photo, _happy to call captain canada mine #cantbeatus #thebeststromebro #gocanada_.

Dylan felt like the sky was the limit at that point.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://virtanucks.tumblr.com/)


End file.
